I know him well enough to know when he’s bullshitting me. “Right. Okay, then lay it on me. How have you been?” I work incredibly hard to keep the sarcasm out of my tone.
“Truth?” He turns toward me, and I see the man I fell in love with. Only…he looks different. He looks older. Tired. Worn down. “I’ve been miserable without you. I’ve tried to justify that I did the right thing, but it turns out I didn’t. I was wrong. I never should have ended things. I never should have given up the greatest thing that ever happened to me.”
“So you sweep into Vegas a couple months after I move here, expecting me to just drop everything and take you back?” I ask quietly.
He lifts a shoulder, which confirms my suspicions even though his words try to negate them. “No. I don’t expect anything from you. But I was hoping maybe you felt it too and would be willing to give this another chance with me.”
I press my lips together, and then fuck it all. I chug down the tequila in my glass. “Six months ago, I would’ve given anything to hear those words. But six months is a long time, and I’ve changed.”
“So let me change with you,” he begs.
I shake my head. I feel a little off balance by this entire conversation. “I like wearing red lipstick.”
He takes a step toward me. “And it’s gorgeous on you.”
“I like wearing red dresses. I like my black shoes with the red soles. But you know what I’ve learned to like most of all, Billy?” I ask, and when I turn, he’s mere inches from me. Close enough to kiss if that’s the way I wanted this conversation to go. As it turns out, though, it isn’t.
“What?” he breathes.
“I like my freedom.” I press my lips together and step away from him. I refill my glass of tequila.
He blows out a breath of disappointment or frustration, I’m not sure. But I find that I don’t really care.
The only thing I can seem to think about at this moment is what Maverick thought when he saw a handsome man in a suit standing in front of my door.
CHAPTER 18: Maverick Jennings
I’m Down for a Hate Fuck
I force myselfnotto glance out the peephole into the hallway.
Instead, I put on some music. I select my most aggressive and eclectic playlist with everything from rap to metal by artists such as DMX, Kendrick Lamar, Slipknot, and Skillet. I don’t listen to the lyrics. I just like the loud, pumping beats with songs that make mefeelsomething as they pound in my chest.
I blast it.
Fuck it. I hope she can hear it. I hope she remembers who her neighbor is. I hope she remembers why she’s here.
Who the fuck was that asshole?
He stank of money. More money than he knew what to do with. Has she fucked him? Is he hertype?
I push away that hot burn of jealousy that seems to tear up my spine. It’s unfamiliar, and I’m not sure where it comes from. It shouldn’t come anywhere near me right now, yet there it is.
I have no reason to feel jealous. I stake no claim over her.
But I want to.
I fucking hate her. I hate that she’s here. I hate that she’s finding a way in. I hate that she’s affecting me. I hate that she’s Dex’s sister. I hate that Jack hired her.
And yet…
I want to fuck her like I want to take my next breath.
Goddamn.
I need to work out this aggression, so I decide to hit the treadmill.
It’s getting late.
